When the Fire Burns Out
by justagirlwholikestowrite
Summary: Morning of November 3nd, 1983. John Winchester loved Mary. She was his love, his wife, his anchor, the first thing he saw in the morning and the last he saw at night. Now she's gone, leaving John to drown in her absence.


**A/N This is my first supernatural fic, tell me if you like it becuase I have a lot of ideas! Please leave a comment, I would love to hear feedback. Enjoy!**

In the morning sunrise the off white tiles of the motel bathroom looked yellow and grimy,but it didn't matter to John as he silently sobbed into his hands. He had been up all night answering questions for the police and firemen, while helpful neighbors had brought Sam and Dean to the motel. Physically he was tired, but it was the waves of grief that kept hitting him that had left him huddled in a ball on a motel bathroom floor. His sobs racked his body as the realization hit him once again.

Mary, smart, witty, loving, caring, _beautiful _Mary, was gone. _His_ Mary was gone. It wasn't right! They had been so happy. All she had wanted was a family, and they had done it! They had just bought the house, and Sam was healthy, and Dean was a great kid, she and John were so _happy. _But it was all gone. She had been ripped from this world and all her happiness and it was _wrong_. She should be there right now. He kept waiting to feel her lips kiss his face, or her head on his shoulder, or her hand press into his chest to tell him everything was alright. And when that familiar touch didn't come, and John realized he would never feel it again, the tears flowed down his cheek even faster as he struggled to gasp for air.

She was John's everything and he didn't know what to do without her. He had loved her-still loved her. From when they first met she had made him feel whole. He couldn't imagine living without her, and he certainly couldn't imagine trying to live the life of John Winchester, father of two, without her by his side. Dear God he had no clue what he was doing.

Although he had wanted kids, he was terrified because he had grown up without a father and he didn't know how he was supposed to be one. When they found out that Dean would be a boy she had held his hands as he confessed his fears to her, and she had kissed his tears gently and told her that everything would be alright, that they would learn together. He would come home from work and she would urge him to take Dean out to the backyard, where John would give him piggyback rides and Dean would toddle after a soccer ball. When Sam came along, John was excited to have another baby to love. He and Mary had sat down with Dean and explained to him that he was going to be having a baby brother, but that they would still love him just as much. Dean had been excited to have another person in the family.

Sam was so small, he was still a novelty to have in the house. With Dean, Mary was already getting ready for his fifth birthday, which was just two months away. Right now the thought of a celebration made John want to throw up. Sam was sleeping in an old crib that the front desk had had. In the morning he would wake up and cry for food, and John would have to feed him a bottle, as if that were any substitution for his mother.

At this moment the four year old was curled up sleeping in the single twin size bed, his blonde hair falling over his face as his chest rose and fell with each breath. He was a smart kid, and he hadn't asked yet where Mommy was. He cried into his shaking hands, praying that his bawling wouldn't wake one of the kids. John was horrified of what he would have to tell Dean in the morning. He was terrified to have to say it outloud. "Mommy's not going to be around anymore," he would have to say. "Mommy got stuck in the fire,and she didn't come out. She's dead, Dean."

She's dead.

She's dead.

She's dead.

He sobbed like one of the children he was scared to face.

Mary Campbell, the girl he fell in love with the blonde hair and the snarky attitude is dead. No more smiles, no more playful shoves on the shoulder, no more playing with his hair as she leans on his shoulder. No more kisses.

John couldn't think about the fire which seems to have had no logical source. He still couldn't process the image of Mary on the ceiling as her blood dripped down on Sam. All he could think was that she was gone.

Mary was dead.

And John wished he was too.


End file.
